


Hunter and Hunted

by suhdude



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Ghost B.C.
Genre: AKA, Other, Porn With Plot, Sex, Smut, Teratophillia, and, anywho, but reader is a monster slayer, he is def not human, i dont want to spoil stuff, in that funky demon way, itsreal monster fucker hours, my borthday, so like mild kind of sort of maybe, so there is fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 09:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suhdude/pseuds/suhdude
Summary: sometimes, you gotta fight and fuck





	Hunter and Hunted

“Come out you Godless bastard!” you yelled, crumbling stone walls causing an echo. It was a shell of what it once had been.

The palace was dark and damp, a rosary was wound around the torch that lit your way. The fire caused shadows to dance dangerously around you, every movement drawing your eye. It was hard to convince yourself you had nothing to fear, even with the pouch of herbs around your neck, you knew no protection would every truly be enough. 

A corridor wound its way to a ballroom as you followed it. A dream like sound filled the air. Like a memory, distant, just off from reality. The light of your torch was joined by others, shadows retreating as the chandeliers sprouted flames of their own. Crystals dancing the light around the room, the scent of perfumes waded into existence, figures manifested. Masquerade goers, all dressed in lavish costumes, the only things visible past their extravagant masks were hollow holes where their eyes should be. 

The floor became a flurry of activity. The pace of the music swam from dreamy to a hastened pace. The dancers followed suit. Your dreary attire felt as a puddingstone in a sea of glistening diamonds. Your grip on the torch tightened as you dodged the figures. Each lifeless face passing your eyes with the haunting sound of an unseen band. 

“Show yourself!” You screamed, the violins hissed in response. The tone dropped with the pit in your stomach. 

“Why?” came the voice of the beast you were set to slay. You swiped the torch in the direction of the voice, a woman in a bright blue gown dissipating for a moment before reforming, her partner not so much as pausing in his dance. 

“You know my business!” you called again, free hand hovering over the handle of the blade you kept sheathed at your side. Its handle glimmered in the bewitched light. No form held the light the torch cast, a faint glow appearing on the dull floor beneath them. The illusion that held the room left the floor in other places shining as polished as its hay day.   
It was hard to decipher what truly lay before you. Even your own eyes could not be fully trusted. 

Couple after couple swayed past as the rhythm continued, each of their moves rhythmic, precise, mechanical. No foot, nor thread, nor hair moved outside of its intended path. A fog seemed to fill your mind as you turned to watch in awe and horror. It was hypnotizing. 

Through the mask of one dancer, you saw irises, floating on obsidian it seemed, but irises none the less. You drew the blade and lunged. His partner disappeared. His leather clad   
hand caught your wrist. The shining silver edge held the orange glow of your torch as the torch clattered to the ground. He swiftly moved the now torchless hand to his shoulder, one of his own hands finding your shoulder blade under the fall cape. The wool material swung as he stepped off back into the waltz, grip on your blade wielding wrist still firm. 

His steps were effortless, precise, you struggled, trying to at least nick him with the weapon you wielded. The white iris in one of his eyes melted as butter does, a glaze drifting over the eye, turning it completely white, the same happening with black in the other eye. A shine showed the difference between the hollowness of the illusions and the depth of his solid form. The voice of an opera singer filled the room as panic filled you. 

Bassier notes from the orchestra shone through. The singer’s melody was like that of a siren, fantastic and dangerous. The leather soles of your hunting boots were not suited to the dancefloor, and yet, you danced. You could not explain what was happening around you, in front of you, within you. 

“Such a pity,” the fiend before you spoke “I was expecting some resistance.” Serpentine sounds slipped from his smile.

“You will have a fight yet,” you hissed back. 

“And yet it seems,” he spun the two of you with the rest of the dancers, “you have bent to my will as a blade of grass in the warm summer breeze.” 

“Summer has come to meet it’s end, and so shall you.” The handle of the hollowed weapon flew from one palm to your other in an arch. 

The entire rooms movements reversed as he caught the wrist. The music changed too, light again.

“Tsk tsk my darling.” His scolding words drifted nearer, as did his mouth. You scowled, the scent of brimstone and earth following his movements. The attempt to pull your nose away from his face left your neck born to him. His jaw opened slowly as he moved his face closer, closer, his nose brushing your neck, he paused. You felt him inhale for the first time, undead lungs needing no air. 

“Juniper, wolfsbane, blackthorn, and more, quite a potent mix of plants you wear.” His voice flowed like honey fresh from the hive, “it does not work to mask your own scent.” You shuddered. He laughed. His breath smelled as a butcher’s floor does after a slaughter. Metallic and distressing. 

Curiosity and fear pried your mouth open. “What do I smell of?” Your breath was uneven, but not from the dancing. 

“I can smell the trepidation as it pulses through your mind, the dismay in your heart, the anxiety in your gut, and something deeper, an excitement you would be all to eager to hide from the outside world, a filthy feeling of want.” The whispers were intoxicating, nose still brushing your neck. You hated how he could read you. 

He pulled his head back, eyes almost human, sparkling. You knew exactly what his last sentence meant, you could feel an ache deep within you. A grin spread on his face as you searched his features. Your eyebrows furrowed together, extending the wrist he held to catch his hand with the blade. It cut through the leather as if it were hot butter. 

He howled in pain, a sizzling sound came from the strike, the handle slipped from your hand as he released your wrist in agony. Smoke oozed from the back of his gloved hand. A clattering came over the music as the weapon hit the floor. The illusion faltered for a moment. A couple turned to smoke as they danced through your forms. 

The monster looked at he back of his hand in shock, a grey ooze dripped down the back of his wrist as he held his hand up. The scent of rotten meat emanated from him, scorching on a fire meant to dispose of it in its foul state. 

His eyes returned to you, near glowing, as a sheet of paper conceals a flame. Bright. Vengeful. You grinned as he lunged at you, swooping to the side just in time, reaching for the blade that sat on the floor. The illusion was faltering more, reality seeping back into its boundaries, a man dissipated then re-appeared after dancing through you. The vibrancy of the red and silver embroidery of his jacket hollowing. Everything the beast held to deceive you flickered as a windswept flame. The music stayed strong, filling the gaps the visible illusion left. 

Nails on tile joined the music. Your head whipped to the source, part of the cloak twisting with you. After the lunge, he had moved to all fours. Horror crept through you as slowly, needle like growths pushed through the leather of his gloves. You sucked a deep breath in. Hand shaking, you searched for the blade. Your hand patted and grabbed at the crumbling tiles of the floor as it searched, eyes trained on the thing before you. His ears stretched from humanoid to that of a bat, his teeth sharp as razors as they began to pull past his lips, grey matter still slipped from his hand as it contorted and grew. The seams of the leather gloves he wore began to split. He lunged again.

The stench of iron seeped from his mouth as he hovered above you. His fang like teeth formed a sick smile. His tongue pulled over his lips as they began to meet, hiding his teeth away. His eyes were dark, darker than a moonless night in the woods and twice as horrifying. Yet, fear wasn’t all you felt at the sight of them. 

Back to the floor, your hand continued to reach for the weapon, fingertip brushing it, so close, so far. His clawed digits wrapped around your wrist, so much larger than they had been. His grip isn’t the same with the new size. 

You inhale sharply, and with the hand that hadn’t been captured yet, you put your hand to the back of his head, pressing your lips to his. 

The abysses in his skull flash a moment, then his eyelids droop shut as he pressed back to your lips. He tasted of pomegranates on a summer’s day, wildly different than you anticipated. 

Seizing the distraction, you slip your hand through his grip, flipping him so you are on top, in the movement you snag the knife, a leg now between his. You press the blade to his throat.

Shock plasters his monstrous features. His face pulls into a snarl, nose transforming as if the tip had been cut off. You move the leg between his as you press the knife harder to his almost scaly skin. His hair was surprisingly in place, it was not the only surprise. The other surprise was what you felt against your own leg. Your brows furrowed until realization hit you. His hands were not the only thing to grow during your fight. 

“You really are sick, you bracket-faced wagtail.” You hissed, leaning close to him. The scent of rot on him had been replaced with something sweeter. A sound slipped through is lips, his fangs beginning to appear again. 

Your knee beginning to sting on the cold ground, you moved it as to straddle him. Another noise from him, slightly louder as you sat. The cloak covered both of you now. His half-lidded eyes burned into you. Was he not afraid?

“Not even a move to throw me? I heard you were a monster to be feared, but here you are, more yellow bellied than a canary, and it just so happens I will be your coalmine.” 

You felt his hips shift slightly, the friction of your thick pants against his fine tailored ball attire causing a surprising shudder from you. The smile on his face all but disappeared, his tongue sliding across his lips, then he bit his lip. The party around you seemed to grow more vibrant.   
Curiosity and the pit in your gut began to take control. Another pair danced through you. 

“You were a holy man,” you began, pressing down against him, “a man a virtue,” you ground slightly “a cardinal.” 

He tensed at the word and grabbed at the ground as you ground against him. His lips parted, fangs visible again. 

You leaned down closer to him “Weak, licentious,” you mocked “pitiful.” 

A deep moan came from him again, his hips moved to grind against you as you spoke. You moved the hand at the back of his neck to tangle in his still perfect hair, so soft to the touch. The knife remained at his throat. 

“You disgust me” you began again, orchestra growing louder, “the sight of you sickens me,” you tightened your grip on his hair, “you fetid wreck!” You yanked his hair back, his back arched on impulse, drawing his hip up. You couldn’t help the sound that rumbled your throat. 

His eyes grew wide, as did a snarky grin on his face. 

“And you enjoy your filth, don’t you?” he mocked. He looked up at you down what remained of his nose. “Pray tell, do you play with all your missions as you do with me?”

“Shut up.” You demanded, leaning closer. 

“Do all your little monsters get some play?”

“Shut up.” You warned.

The monster beneath you let his hands wander to your legs, huge, like a bears paw to a twig. His claws more dangerous. Your stomach growing to a furnace. 

“Do you let the sour words play at your tongue at the thought of something else caressing it?” His hands held a grip as the two of you pressed to each other to an unholy rhythm, static filling your mind in the friction. 

You held your tongue. His grin spread impossibly large.

“No more words for my horribly greedy ears? You call me evil, and yet, you indulge with me, you play with me, you sin like me.”

“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” You hissed, face drawing neared. 

“As if you cou-“ his words interrupted as your mouth met his again, strong grip on him keeping him in place. Passion brewed and your tongue stirred the pot. Teeth clashing, the   
movements of your bodies grew more desperate. 

The knife you held at his throat fell to the floor with your hand as you moved to brace yourself. The scents of a butcher shop seeped into that of a bakery, warm and inviting. 

He sat up all at once, your arms wrapping around him in an attempt to keep steady. A rumble of a laugh came from his monstrous form. 

The slight shift in position allowed you to wrap your legs around him and draw him nearer, he responded by tightening his grip, hands moving from your thighs to your ass. Even through the thick fabric you could feel his claws, lurking, waiting. 

You pushed your cloak off as the room began to spin around you, the pull of the string and a roll of the shoulder all that it needed. The dancers began to move around you instead of through you, you watched as the massive shoulders before you filled out further, the ornate fabric concealing them stretching too close to its limits. The shredding of seams became apparent even in the stirrings of music. Popping of threads evolving from the first bursting of seams, his arms becoming like wings before your eyes. 

 

You should run, kill him, anything, but instead, you peeled off the shirt that kept your chest from his, his eyes turning near red as you moved. 

His mouth found your chest all at once. Cold, colder than you had felt without freezing, as though ice pressed to your skin. Goosebumps erupted in the place of icicles. The hair you held to control him now brought him closer. His sub human nose didn’t even make contact, no breath erupted from it, and yet its presence was impossible to deny. The wickedness in the situation was hard to deny. The damnation sure to follow you couldn’t deny, yet, other things were harder, and more pressing. 

The frozen tongue trailed treacherously lower, lower, pressing until the bend of his body allowed no more, and then, he moved you to your back. 

You almost couldn’t feel the shreds of his clothing beneath you, nor chill of the trashed tiles, as if the floor had been as well kept as the illusion. Teasing growing tortuous, your hands moved from him to the pants you had on, untying the waistband, slipping them away as his mouth ventured to where they had laid. 

His eyes met yours again as his tongue split in two, waiting not a moment before tracing it up the newly exposed flesh, tasting the excitement you had tried to suppress. 

“Copia,” you murmured as your eyes drifted from the nude monstrosity. You were reward by the tasting turning to a feast, pointed ears meeting your thighs as he pressed in further. Back arching, eyes shooting open, you watched as a green satin ballgown swirled by. The chandeliers above you glimmered as a sunset on an ocean, candles flaring and light refracting off the crystals in a joyous way. Yet, something prevailed over it, a sense of unease grew, realization of the situation began to reset, but, the swirl of a tongue pulled the illusion closer. 

His fangs brushed against you as his hunger became more apparent, enticing as the smooth surface seemed to slide almost silkily against sensitive skin. Your back began its tell tale arch as his movements progressed, he found his mark, you found your release moments later, gasping, moaning, a mess. 

He sat back on his heels, looking down at you. 

“Rebuke your God now and reap the rewards” he muttered, mouth glistening. 

Clarity rushed back, the lights and melody of the ball flickered. 

“I won’t, I can’t, you rebuked him and with it damned yourself! No chance at absolution! No salvation! No beating heart in your chest nor title to claim!” 

“Do titles fret you so?” he said “is it praise you want, adoration, the devotion that comes with a title?”

“You may live in an illusion, but I won’t!” you shouted back, siting up, looking up to his eyes.

“Do you not live in an illusion now?” he hissed, spine curling forward so his face met yours. Hand meeting the ground as you fumbled backwards again, a broken tile found its place as your fingers wrapped around it. 

You struck him fast, the illusion faltered again. Not bothering to re-dress, you pursued him. The putrid muck that filled his veins began to seep from his cheek. His winged arms spread as he slashed towards you, you made it to your feet in time to avoid his claws that crumpled the remaining floor and illusion alike. 

Swinging at him again, you stumbled, foot catching on the bottoms that were half discarded. His opposite hand now came at you, catching your shoulder as you moved to roll out of the way. Both of you burned in fury as blows were avoided or exchanged. The cut on you grew to a gash, blood gushed from it as you moved, pouring down to your hand, joining the steady stream from your torn knuckles. 

Thin layer of fur like hair covered him yet the skin you met when you hit him felt almost reptilian. The wounds the tile made closed quickly, your eyes traced the floor whenever the illusion faltered, frantic to find the blade that could end this. 

A glimmer of metal and hope came when you buried the tile in his pec and the illusion fell for an extra moment. The second you saw the blade, you lunged for it. You were fast enough to grasp for it, be was still fast enough to snag your leg. Blade in hand, you fell to your face, tile now finding itself lodged into your side and parts of your face.   
Using the momentum he gave you as he ripped his arm back, you swung and the hollowed blade lodged itself in in one of the connecting bones of his wing, howling following the murky steam that bellowed from him. His grip on your leg released, the gnarled handprint already beginning its appearance. 

“Copia, I know it is you, it has you be.” You blurted. “Deny this all and I will save you.”

“I will know no salvation by your hand” he roared, “I’m no longer a cardinal, nor pope, nor price or king.” His eyes glowed, the light they emitted trailing behind him as he moved, the illusion was faltering more than it held. He stalked towards you as an animal did prey. 

“I am a GOD” words tore at you more than anything physical ever had, words repeating in your head and reverberating through your body as if to shred the flesh clean from your bones. 

Bright illusions, marvelous candles chandeliers one moment, harsh reality the next, cold corrupt palace lit by a single dying torch. Both made your stomach sink in fear, and yet, there still lingered another ache, a thirst unquenched. 

It was not unnoticed by Copia, he rolled his neck as she sniffed the air, you lunged forward again, he caught your wrist not a moment too late, the blade only a hair from his white eye. He tilted his head so the blade scraped just deep enough down his cheek to draw more of the horrible ooze, tracing his features as it slid down his face. The clawed mess of a hand found the small of your back, wings all but hiding the rest of the ballroom from view. 

A sense of security and anxiety came with it, as did excitement. The music drew up again, tempo increasing, you dance. His eyes sickeningly turned more human, mismatched, mocking with every move. You felt the pit grow again, deeper, needier, more desperate than the last time. He smelled sweet again. You pressed your lips furiously to his, free hand reaching down to palm him. Shock did not shake him again, instead, eagerness to reciprocate did. Dagger like claws slid from their place at the nook of your back down, gripping your ass firmly, threatening to dig in at any moment. He felt on your tongue the way champagne does, for a moment you sensed the taste of wild honey, and then it was gone.

You drew each other closer, one dance stopping to re-initiate another. 

His mouth felt hot, blisteringly so against yours, as if hellfire itself filled your mouth as your tongue met his. Brash movements increased. Your hand picked up its speed. 

“Copia” you said again, knowing the power the invocation of a name brought. 

His mouth moved to your jaw, then your throat, fangs brushing the obscenely exposed flesh as you tilted your head. You felt his tongue draw over the wound on your shoulder, he began to feel almost alive against you. 

A cold sweat broke from you, you felt dizzy. Memories that weren’t your own played out before you, you clutched the form in front of you to remain standing. A searing pain came from the hand that held the blade, it clattering of it hitting the floor came almost in time with the music. The taste of wild honey met with the memory of climbing the tree to reach it, you wiped your mouth with the back of your arm, it wasn’t your arm when the amber colour covered it, it was your own when you saw the smoking matter smeared. You blinked fast, legs nearly giving out beneath you. 

“This can’t be…” you trailed, hand feeling your neck for the satchel. 

It was long gone, and its protection with it. Copias face remained at your shoulder, through bleary eyes you watched as the laps of his tongue drew slower and the once crimson blood that escaped you grew to match the grey he produced, the pain dissipating, the wound stitching itself together. 

“What have you done” you cried in rage, hands turning to fists, knees meeting the ground as you sunk, his hands no longer supporting you. 

“You brought this unto yourself, like Judas, betrayed by a kiss.” 

“You low down sewer rat.”

“You mocked me for my damnation, and now, it is a fate we share.” 

Vigor coursed though your veins as the last of your blood transformed. The last breath you would ever take left your lungs. A hunger erupted inside you, anger, envy, followed with it. The lust that drew you away from your mission boiled over, replenished in the fermenting form you began to take. The pieces of tile in your face were forced out as the skin healed, knuckles blistering and transforming, Copia watched, his own monstrous form staying close, so close. 

Lust became more and more apparent. You were no longer only aware of your want, but, you could smell his, feel it. 

He grew irresistible. You hated him for what he had done, but, he was the release you craved. 

You turned your back to him, ass pressing to him as you stood. His erect cock became increasingly apparent as one of his hands wrapped around you, bringing you closer, feeling your movements. His mouth met your neck, pressing harsh kisses to the changing skin. It was as if you had felt, truly felt, for the first time. The sway of your hips together became more of a rut. You lifted a leg to wrap backwards around him, you heel guiding him nearer, he obliged graciously, cock pressing nearer your entrance now that you opened to him. 

The swirling colours of the ball continued, though, you could see more to them now. Reds were no longer just reds, they were rainbows you had never even imagined, you heard more in the orchestra, felt more as you rocked your hips, the head of his cock resting just at your entrance. 

Hand drifting low, you guided him in. Arousal made the entrance easy, yet, it seemed as though his own arousal brought a new sensation. Everything had been heightened, your knee buckled as he began to work himself in and out, a great clawed hand swooped and held your leg, now both held him, though you faced away. 

His fangs dug in in moments, marking you as the slow short thrusts became longer. You felt weightless, even with the growing weight in your gut. 

It was obvious the enjoyment he took in teasing you, but is own arousal began to grab at him. 

You dared him to continue, to hasten his movements, the moan of “Copia” that escaped you causing him to sink to the ground, bending you forwards as he took you like an animal. Your hands dug through the tile and into the stone, crushing them as the ice of the first inklings of winter are crushed by a river’s current. The realization of new strength came as you pressed back to meet Copias thrusts. 

Growls came from him, you could feel him pulsing, his anatomy begging for release. You pressed back to him, burying him deeper, and with such gusto he fell backwards, flat on his back but knees still bent. 

In a move swifter than you thought possible, you turned to face him, not once releasing him from you, needing to feel him. Your eyes met his, it was his turn for shock to fill his features, your eyes boring into him as you grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, his wings outstretched on the tile that came in and out of existence. 

“Don’t you dare” you warned, sensing his imminent release. “Not until my hunger is staved.”

Fire again filled his eyes, he yanked his hands from your grasp, one reaching to bring your head down to kiss him, the other going to where your bodies met, rubbing you to hasten your release. 

Pressure brought pleasure as the two of you writhed together, faster, the two of you moved, faster, the dancers swung, faster, the band grew, Copia grew, you lurched, mouths pressed together suppressing the sounds that escaped your fanged mouths. Your hands dug again into the floor, using it to press urgently against him, bottoming him out in desperation, your release beckoned, he pressed up into you, you both cried out as the crest came to crash. 

You pulled your lips from his as the fog of the orgasm drew away, looking at his face. 

“Damned.” He said, voice softer than fresh fleece. 

The ball had dissipated, the faint glow of the torch bounced from the shell of a ballroom and your obsidian eyes.

“Damned together.”

**Author's Note:**

> http://ko-fi.com/yeahihaveone because im trying not to forget to put it lmao, love yall, have a blessed day


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